By fall the vines have crawled out twenty yards from the hill coiling under weeds. The great cloth leaves have shriveled and fallen. No sign of a harvest. No way to tell where the pumpkins are scattered except wade into the briars and matted grass, among hornet nests and snakes, parting the brush with a hoe. Or wait a few weeks longer till the weeds dry up, burned by frost, and huge beacons shine through like planets submerged and rising.
By fall the vines have crawled out
twenty yards from the hill
coiling under weeds.
The great cloth leaves have shriveled
and fallen. No sign of a harvest.
No way to tell where the pumpkins are scattered
except wade into the briars and matted grass,
among hornet nests and snakes,
parting the brush
with a hoe. Or wait
a few weeks longer till the weeds dry
up, burned by frost,
and huge beacons
shine through
like planets submerged and rising.